A Lesson Before Drowning
by Servant of Fire
Summary: He has one last vow to make, to break, to wish upon. What will John do when he learns the history of brotherly love and unending violence that Sherlock always hid from him? Sherlock is drowning 3 miles away from him. Will he come to Lestrade's side when he gets a strange text from a dead man or will he be two steps two late?
1. Chapter 1

She bleeds_The sea. He'd always wanted to go this way. To fall into the sea when the time came. He'd only never imagined it would carry him this far. He'd only never dreamed that it would be two steps from Hell and three miles from home.

John Watson sat swathed in candlelight. In a fine dining restaurant on the Thames side. A beautiful woman sat in front of him. Candles and wine danced in his watery vision. The chains pulled on his ankles. He was two steps from Hell, he was three miles from Heaven.

_John…_

Sherlock wondered how he would convey his final message? How the world had ended under the doctor's nose? So silent was the world in the end. Sherlock had forgotten the reason for saving it once it was over.

At least, until John threw his head back laughing. There haloed by the living lights of the restaurant_a Christmas candle hovering above the frozen floating world of death by water.

Sherlock raised his hand.

Then the river pulled him under again.

It was just then that Lestrade received the first cryptic text of the evening.

_One last favor. One last vow. Come to the Thames. _

__SH. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Call all your friends_**

Lestrade feels it swell, up to his ears. A collar made of thorns. Anger. The prankster who sent this is cruel beyond words.

But then there are coordinates with it. Beneath them it says:

_This is not a game. If you get this, the truth about my death will at last be revealed._

Lestrade stared dumbfounded at the numbers for 3 whole minutes. What would he do with this?

What would he do with himself if he didn't act on it?

* * *

John heard his phone buzzing. He was lost in Mary's eyes and didn't want to break away from them. Yet something told him to be leery. Something told him this was important.

"Yeah?" He answered it reluctantly.

"John, I...I don't even know where to begin with this." It was Lestrade's voice. He and Lestrade were not friends really. Not since it all ended.

* * *

Sherlock's hands were shaking. He reached up. The log he was chained to rolled over. The water grew colder, or so it seemed. Then, with an exhausted exhale, the sky tore her hair out. Clouds like severed locks descended. Rain like lady's hair, thick like vines, came down and wrapped around him, along with water weeds and rubbish. He was knocked under water by the sheer weight of it, wrapped in the chains.

His eyes opened under the water. It struck him then. Like the bells of Hell, it tolled for him. Sepulcher. Infinite.

_This is where it ends for me…_


	3. Chapter 3

"**Run, you clever boy and remember"_**_**Doctor Who **_

"Listen, I'm only trying to get answers. You were his best friend! Admit it, you were. What if this is something that helps us solve the Moriarty case once and for all?!" Lestrade's desperation was palpable in the air.

"It's not my problem anymore. He's dead. It's done. Don't contact me again." John was about to hang up.

"John, wait!" Lestrade begged.

"John, please." Mary had heard enough. John looked at her in surprise.

"You do that and you'll never forgive yourself. Dinner can wait. As far as marrying you,_yes I saw the ring_I have one condition." Mary smiled.

John felt his spirit roll in his throat. This was an all or nothing situation. This was forever and this was the end.

* * *

"Please, please…"Sherlock shot water out of his nose. He was crying like a child. Not because he was afraid. There was no point in that. Because it hurt. The cold was so overpowering.

"Please let it...Let it be soon...Let it be soon…"Sherlock was convinced no one was coming for him. After that last conversation with Mycroft, he was well and truly convinced that he was alone.

His eyes lifted tiredly to the dining room away in the distance. It was hazier now, but he could still see John.

Sherlock felt dizzy, looking at John….


	4. Chapter 4

"**Someone you loved"_Lewis Capaldi**

How did John get here? He asked himself. How he let her__those wild eyes! __talk him into this.

"Look, it's probably nothing. But we had this cryptic text message. If this is a prank, well we'll have wasted everyone's time. But if it has answers…"Lestrade gritted his teeth.

"Then we'll finally have peace." John scoffed heavily through his nostrils. What Greg was suggesting was hilarity at its best. In a way, he felt affronted by his optimism. Sherlock's death would never have any closure_even with all the answers.

* * *

When Sherlock couldn't see John in the restaurant anymore, he lost all hope. Or rather he abandoned it. Death was creeping icy fingers.

This time he knew there was no one to turn to. His eyes rolled in his head. And just like that, with no one to save him, he was going under.

* * *

A splash. An echoing, terrible splash. Turned John and Lestrade's heads at the same moment. John felt a feeling of instant dread. This was nothing. He told himself it was nothing. A cruel game_just like Sherlock's life had been.

"Sir! There's something in the water!" Sally's voice, cutting the cold air_steel on paper.

John gasped. His heart was a stone in his chest. This may be nothing a trick of the brain.

But he was someone he'd loved. Brother and yes, damn well his best friend!

He loved him still. If there was even the faintest chance that the answer was here_

Lestrade leaned down on the shoreline, shining his torch into the dark water.

He found a video camera instead.


	5. Chapter 5

**Alive?**

John hit his knees, near to vomiting. When into the viewfinder flashed the familiar essence of Sherlock Holmes.

_If you're watching this_Then there's one last vow to make. One last gasp_A lamb to lead to slaughter. _

_The last I left you all was a note. This is a confession. Had I succeeded, I'd be there to tell you myself. _

_If you're watching this, then I am dead. But this is the story of how I disbanded the Moriarty network. _

_The reason why I left. The three gunmen who tried to sever John Watson, Detective Inspector Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson from the world. I had to jump for them to see it, or the shots..._

"Oh, God! He...He did what?" Lestrade clutched his mouth in a shaking, muddy hand.

John felt numb. All this time of blaming him. The selfish prat, bloody robot, drama queen. All this time and he had sacrificed his life_

"Sir! There's something out there for sure. And bubbles are rising from it. I think_ I think a person is under the water!" Sally's angst called them all away from the video, which went on prattling random deductions there in the mud.

* * *

Hallucinations were not entirely new. He'd had them before when his captors caused the real pain. He'd never felt them like this. Where the devil swam around him, shouting curses in his ears. He rattled his chains, thrashing, thrashing.

"John Watson is in danger! It's up to you to save him_you machine! You machine! Get up!" The voice it hissed, it gurgled.

And Sherlock's head broke the surface.


	6. Chapter 6

**Resurrection **

It's his shout that stirs the cold. His shout that is a shriek of hoarse pain. Inhuman and yet the most human of sounds.

John's bones are pulled apart and pieced together again like confetti falling in reverse. The light trains immediately on the shape in the river. Lestrade lets out a scream. Sally turns away and faints, sliding off the truck and landing in the river mud. Then all watch. As the screaming man, back from the Styx_alive from the dead_Goes on shouting in delirium.

"End it! End it! End it! Sign of nine_And thatchers!" And other unintelligible things.

John wades to his waist in the water. Dreamlike, he thinks he will go out to him. To the river of the dead which coughed him back up. The answer he wasn't looking for brought again by the current.

"What are you doing_you idiot! You'll drown!" Anderson hauls John back a few paces. John fights. The mud is cast up. The fish fleeing. All of them racing, back to the wound, where the sea sliced her wrists and let the Thames run free.

"End it! End it! A two of clubs!" The voice full of purpose, but lacking meaning.

Sherlock goes under again. Before their eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

**A voice in the dark**

Useless. Useless the struggle. The chain is in his teeth, making his gums bleed. He tastes iron and sweet. Hansel and Gretel's candy house sweet. They run across his mind, dancing in the forest, dropping bread crumbs for him to follow. The sun, the trees, the warmth of Hyde Park when he was a child. Redbeard yapping_A little puppy.

He could go to them. Go to where it's safe.

Useless, useless. He hears screams and shouts. John's voice. John. John!

Sherlock thrashes back to the surface. His hands shoot out pitifully to the log in front of him. He uses all his force to wrap his upper body around it. Plucks the chains from his aching teeth.

The log turns in the water. Bringing Sherlock and John face to face again.

John's face is moon-white. Anderson holds him back.

Sherlock feels a warmth go over him. The blood drips on his chin. A rush is in his ears, pigeons, pigeons he's hallucinating messenger pigeons, dropping his deductions in little scrolls about his head.

Sherlock feels a smile creep over his face. He has no idea that his eyes plead insanity to the brokenhearted friend on the shore. The river hauls him downward again. A hard splash. His head throbbing.

Useless, useless….


	8. Chapter 8

**Salvation **

Something in John's shock breaks when he sees Sherlock go under again. He pushes back and Anderson falls smack on his rear in the mud.

John swan dives. Little red dots_sniper rifles_train on the water's surface. A million and one, but John doesn't see it. He swims serpentine and against all reason to the spot he saw him go under.

It's instant forgiveness when his head sinks below waters. He reaches out a hand, blind in the dark.

He feels a hand reach back and clasp.

* * *

It may be another dream within a dream. All of his thoughts rolling back, numbed out, blurred by the cold. An intense light, a fog light, trains on the water. Above? It might be coming from above and beyond where the kill squad's chopper roars.

But the light is bright enough that under water Sherlock is face to face and inches away from John.

John has clasped his hand. To haul him free of his chains, and back to the surface.

Sherlock feels like might lose consciousness when their heads break water. Shots scatter the current, unclear in the dark. Now they both could die.

"You git," John hissed. The bullets whizzed by.

Sherlock was never once so glad.


	9. Chapter 9

**When bullet bites**

Sherlock wasn't sure what he remembered about it after. He had deduced the outcome in a daze. They hit the shore, but Sherlock rolled John over underneath him just as a bullet whizzed and made a direct impact with something. It was hot. All over. Hot and cold. If he had to perish twice, he fancied to do it by the light of John's eyes.

They were wide and staring. Searching the life that was ebbing in Sherlock's own eyes. Sherlock spat from the grave. Sherlock whose lips dripped blood still where the chains had mauled him.

A plane sailed to the face of the Thames_into the fight. It was Mycroft. Mycroft who had staged the texts from Sherlock to Lestrade. Who placed the video camera. Who had used his own little brother as bait. The guilty and the heroic.

If Sherlock had to perish twice, he'd say he'd rather the warm fingers of the bullet than the cold of the Thames. He felt a smile creep his pain spasming face. As John ordered medics to his side and performed surgery with a switchblade there in the mud of the Thames.

_We're losing you…._Sherlock watched the eyes. They danced they swung like chandaliers_Fireworks.

"No, no…"Sherlock's hand on John's arm. There was something wrong. Water crept to his brain. Water, water everywhere. A muted thought.

He was still drowning. They pumped his lungs and fire and frost came up. They slipped an oxygen mask over his nose and he was going under. Drowning in reverse. Breathing a struggle as he swam in his blood.

His thoughts rose up. Scraps of burning paper. Firecracker red, bursting in the air. Talking to him with small deductions. Glimpses and Scrabble and scrapbooks and….

_We're losing you. _Those eyes. Burning like gunmetal. Hot. White. A grenade going off in Sherlock's head.

_It's you. _All the deductions evaporating. Even in death, he knew who this was. No abyss could obscure him. No fire and no ice.

_John, mine. _


	10. Chapter 10

**Forever from cloud nine**

It had not often been the poison of choice. Sherlock, in the days of his sins, had only fallen back on heroin to crash from insane heights. He found that his whole life was a series of rising too fast and falling too far. Which is why he mistook his delirious state in the hospital for an episode of heroin.

His eyes were filled with light. Roses danced in a vase. He watched them dance and drip water. A nurse turned the sheets around him, spreading white, the cloud that he was forever falling in and out of. In and out of. Exhaling. The 9th. The 9th and the 9th heaven.

He held on to something. He wasn't sure what. Someone was calling him from another room. A friend from years before. A child's voice. Someone he was not aware had drowned in a well during their boyhood. He heard also a dog's bark and it made him smile around intubation.

He could go to them. Go and be at peace. But, there was something. Something he was holding on to. Something like madness. Something that disrupted the feeling of numb this cocoon of cloud had insulated his brain with.

_John. _

Well, of course. It was only when the sun glanced off of wheat-gold hair that he remembered. He was looking up into John's eyes when it registered. John and a woman at his arm. They were there, away, outside the cloud of his constant falling. That meant that he_ that Sherlock Holmes!_ was in a somewhat aware coma.

John laid his hand on Sherlock's chest. He smiled.

"Hi. I'm Mary." The woman said coming to the other side. Sherlock's eyes floated in her direction, bobbing like apples in the kettle on the cloud. Thus always the 9th the 9th heaven that blurred his sense of self. It was painful to love to this height. To come crashing down, with naught but a prayer that this sentiment would catch him. Madness be praised and reason be damned!

"Do you think he can hear me, John?" Mary turned to her fiance. John swallowed looking for the words.

_John. _The name disrupted the other static. He felt his consciousness willing him to sit up, but his body remained in stasis. His spirit boxed within his skull chased the cloud like rugby about the still form. Curse his frame and damn his shape that kept him in this limbo, this confused paradox of feeling and unfeeling, of love and darkness.

"Sherlock?" John tapped Sherlock's heart.

_I'm still here. _

John's eyes shot off fireworks. There! They had made contact against the reason, across the void of death, through this cloud nine, in spite of drowning and danger. Bulletproof! A connection, contact, civilization, a castaway, and his island and_

"Yeah, he can hear you." John turned to Mary and smirked.

"Nah, he's all eyes and smiles for you. Which is how I know he'll wake up." Mary smiled down at Sherlock.

Sherlock felt her swarm in his eyes, not tangent yet, but there.

_I think that I might grow to care for you as well...How odd?_


	11. Chapter 11

**His First Breath**

Heaven touched earth there in the intensive care ward. The nurses of the sleeping hospital stirred lively with the expectation of a self-fulfilling prophecy. Even they weren't aware that their eagerness and the room had shifted, changed. John was here alone now. If John was here alone, then surely Sherlock would wake up.

Being born again is a strange experience. To let go of who one was before. Whether you were great or wretched, good or evil, it was a trifle thing. Where you ended was the coma, and where you began was uncertain.

John stood at the foot of the bed on the swells of despair. This was a losing battle. It always feels that way at the ending of anything, or anyone. John was turning to go when it happened.

Sherlock woke up. As if out of a dream. He sat up, tore the intubation from his throat.

One gasp. One powerful rush of air, the sea to the shoreline. Sherlock Holmes, the greatest detective the world had ever known, was alive. For the first time, alive from the dead. Born from the river, swaddled in the euphoria of comatose. But given life only by the shadow of the man in the room.

Sherlock looked at John. For a moment they just stared at one another. Ice blue emanating the curiosity that comes after consciousness. It's a painful experience. To be born. To wake from the innocent dream of incubation only to realize the awesome responsibility of being alive. Of being a soul in a world of other souls that one may influence.

"John."

The newborn spoke his first word. Only one word would have fit. There were little pieces left of the man he'd been in the man he would be hereafter.

"Sherlock…" John was born again as soon as the word was said. As if it invoked a spirit. A spirit of companionship that had been missing since Sherlock fell.

Sherlock spread his hands on the white sheets, blinking.

"God, I've a long story to tell, don't I?"

John pulled up a chair.

"I've got time."

"First off, I'm sorry I lied." There it was. The ghost of the man who died. John shook his head.

"From what I've heard, you had your reasons. But here you are. Newly resurrected. So none of that other stuff matters now." John smiled.

Sherlock, this newborn Sherlock, laughed and pleasantly so. Never had a more musical sound graced John Watson's ears. It took his breath and hushed the roar of questions in his head.

Just as it came, the laughter trilled away to silence. Sherlock shook his head smiling still. He took John's hand and lay back in the pillows. It was as if he'd searched the Underworld for a pearl of great price, and found it in the end.

"Right, well, this all has to do with Moriarty and the disbanding of the Great Web."


End file.
